Almost Famous

By Ryan Bartlett

Chapter 11

Wiley began to turn, his eyes frantically searching for Yani. He’d barely begun to move his shoulders when Yani and another guard tackled him to the ground as the rest of the detail drew their weapons.

“Ah, fuck,” Wiley screamed. His shoulder hit the ground hard and a ripple of pain flashed through his body.

“Holy shit,” Benji shouted somewhere in the background.

“Clear,” shouted one of the guards.

“Go, go, go,” Yani ordered.

Just that quickly Yani was back on his feet. He and the other guard snatched Wiley up from the ground and moved him so fast they practically lifted him off his feet. They raced to the car where one of the guards was holding the door open. Yani shoved Wiley down on the floor and covered him with his own body. The driver put his foot to the metal and the tires screamed as they speed out of the driveway.

“Where’s Benji?” Wiley demanded.

“Second car,” Yani replied. He sat up just a bit and started running his hands all over Wiley’s body. “Are you hit?”

“No, God damn it, but my shoulder’s throbbing from being thrown on the ground,” Wiley groaned through the pain. “What happened?”

“We heard a shot and put evacuation protocol into action,” Yani replied.

“Is anyone else hurt?”

“Hold on,” said Yani. He raised his radio mike to his lips and spoke to his team in his native Hebrew. “All posts, status check?”

Wiley was uncomfortable with Yani on top of him but knowing someone had taken a shot at him scared him beyond words. He didn’t move a muscle. He waited patiently for Yani to tell him what to do.

“Ok,” said Yani. He moved up into the seat and pulled Wiley along with him.

“What’s going on?”

“Team reports all clear, we return to hotel as planned.”

“What happened?”

“False alarm. Taxi cab is having tire explosion,” Yani explained.

“Oh thank God,” Wiley exhaled. He was relieved no one had been hurt but as another wave of pain rippled through his shoulder he started to get angry. “So all of that was because of a damned tire? Your guys don’t know the difference between a gun shot and a tire popping?”

“Guards are forced to make snap decision. You would rather be scraping brains off tile because of hesitation?”

“No,” Wiley sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just, fuck…that scared the shit out of me, and my shoulder is killing me.”

“I am being scared too, but you are safe now. We go to hospital for shoulder,” said Yani. He leaned forward to give the order to the driver but Wiley stopped him.

“I don’t need a doctor. Just get me back to the hotel,” Wiley ordered.

They arrived at the Burge Al-Arab a moment later and when they got out of the car Wiley noted that though the guards had put their weapons away, their concentration remained razor sharp. When the second car stopped Benji pushed his way through the guards and threw his arms around Wiley, crushing him in a bear hug.

“Ah, not so hard,” Wiley winced.

“Dude, are you ok? That was fucking nuts!” Benji exclaimed.

“Yeah, I just need to get up to my room. I need your help with my shoulder,” Wiley explained.

“What’s the matter with it?” asked Benji, examining his friend with concern.

“Yani bounced me off the floor like a basketball,” Wiley groused. “My shoulder is throbbing.”

“I was saving life,” Yani exclaimed.

“From a taxi?” Wiley demanded.

“Guys, guys, let’s focus here,” said Benji. “Are you ok? That’s your serving arm…”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just sore. I need some Icy Hot and a massage.”

“Hotel can send misuse…” Yani started.

“No, I don’t want anyone else right now. I’ll have my friend do it, thanks,” said Wiley.

“As you wish,” Yani nodded.

It was a quick ride on the elevator up to the 15th floor and as soon as he and Benji were safely in the suite, Wiley pulled his phone from his coat pocket to find it had been shattered during the “incident.”

“Fuck.” Wiley sighed and shook his head.

“Hey, I was scared too,” said Benji, misreading Wiley’s body language.

“So was I but that fuck was about my phone,” said Wiley, holding up the broken device. “Do you think that fiasco will make the news?”

“I didn’t see any reporters or cameramen in the lobby. I’m pretty sure they all cleared out once the big name players left the banquet.”

“Good.” Wiley nodded. “Can I use your phone?”

Benji fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. Wiley dialed Cameron’s number from memory but when he got his boyfriend’s voicemail he hung up.

“Trying to call Cameron?”

“Yeah,” Wiley nodded. “Voicemail.”

“You don’t want to leave a message?”

“Not about this. It would scare the shit out of him.” Benji started to protest but Wiley held his hands up in submission and waved him down. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him all about it, but not in a voicemail.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, sorry if I snapped. I guess I’m still jumpy. I’ll try calling again later,” Wiley apologized. He took off his coat and draped it over his chair, then shed his shirt and tie. “The Icy Hot’s in my bag, I really need that massage.”

“Wiley, you’ve got a wicked bruise.”

“I know; it’s sore as fuck too. They really did a number on me,” Wiley agreed.

“Are you sure you don’t want a doctor?”

“No, it’ll be ok.”

“Wiles, you’ve got two matches tomorrow,” Benji reminded him.

“I know and that’s why you have to do the massage. I don’t want this getting out and my opponents smelling weakness. I’ll be fine. Can’t do anything about the bruise, but working the muscle will help with the ache,” Wiley explained as he lay face down on the bed. “Just…go deep.”

“Alright, you’re the boss.” Benji sighed. He took off his coat and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and found the ointment where Wiley said it would be. He straddled his friend’s lower back and applied a good amount of the Icy Hot to Wiley’s shoulder. Wiley winced as soon as it touched his skin. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah,” said Wiley through clenched teeth. “Just keep going.”

Wiley buried his face in his pillow and bit his bottom lip as Benji’s fingers dug into him. The pain was excruciating and as the last vestiges of adrenaline left his system he began to sob into his pillow.

Benji felt terrible. He’d have to be blind and deaf not to realize his friend was hurting, but he also knew how stubborn Wiley could be, and if he didn’t want to go to a doctor, well, they weren’t going to a doctor.

“I’m sorry,” Benji whispered as he continued to work the muscle.

“It’s ok. I’ll be ok,” Wiley sniffled.

The tears had nothing to do with the pain. Wiley had been an athlete almost all his life and while tennis wasn’t football, he’d had his share of injuries over the years. He was tough, he could handle pain, but this was different. These tears came from fear. When Yani threw him in the car and he realized he was safe, Wiley’s first thought was that maybe Benji or someone on the detail had been hit. It felt terrible, and now that the adrenaline was out of his system those memories flooded in.

He’d been just a boy when his parents died. When he was scared he went to his mother for comfort, and since her death he’d think of her when he was afraid. This time was different. His mind didn’t wander to thoughts of his mother; he wanted Cameron to make it all better.

Wiley woke in a foul mood the next morning. He’d been unable to get ahold of Cameron and while his shoulder wasn’t as stiff as it had been, the bruising seemed to grow worse as he slept. The black and blue mass was the first thing he noticed when he stepped into the bathroom. He took a hot shower, which further loosened his muscles but did little to improve his mood. He was still thinking of the events of the night before as he put on his tennis togs. He was just tying his shoes when Benji knocked then had the guard outside let him into the room.

“How’s the shoulder?” asked Benji.

“Fine,” Wiley grumbled.

“Maybe we can have a professional trainer take a look at it when we get to the stadium.”

“No.”

“Ok, just thought I’d check.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m more worried about getting my head in the game.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t get what happened last night off my mind.”

“Wiles, it was all a misunderstanding…”

“I know,” Wiley snapped then immediately softened his tone. None of this was Benji’s fault. “I know that, Benji, but what if it hadn’t been? What if you or someone else got hurt and…”

“Hey, I’m fine, we’re all fine.”

“Yeah.” Wiley sighed.

“Were you able to get ahold of Cameron last night?”

When Benji went to bed he offered to leave his phone with Wiley but Wiley insisted he’d make do with the hotel’s land line.

“No,” Wiley grumbled.

“Ok, you concentrate on the tennis, and I’ll keep trying Cam. Deal?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Benji.”

“Just doing my job. Sports management 101, keep the talent happy.” Benji grinned.

“The talent,” Wiley chuckled.

“Come on, let’s go kick some ass.”

Wiley and Benji found the security detail waiting for them in the hall. Wiley was amazed at how calm they appeared to be after what happened the night before, but he figured in their line of work they had to have tougher nerves then he did. Yani led the way, and in short order they were in the car heading to Dubai Duty Free Stadium, home of the Dubai Open.

There was a rather large crowd of fans waiting at the entrance, hoping to get autographs from tennis greats like Novak Djokovic, Roger Federer and Serena Williams. They seemed disappointed when Wiley Grace hopped out of the SUV with his friend and bodyguards. The security detail put a defensive ring around Wiley and Benji and escorted them straight into the locker room. Once there, Wiley asked Benji to leave him alone so that he might sit quietly and try to focus.

Wiley’s first match of the day was against Luc Duquesne, an uppity Frenchman he’d beaten several times in various tournaments. It was supposed to be an easy win. Wiley was counting on a strong showing against Duquesne to propel him into the next round. It was a double elimination tournament, and a strong first win could be a powerful psychological weapon against his next opponent. Unfortunately all Wiley could think about was that somewhere among the cheering fans lurked a person who wanted him dead.

The ATP had its own security, and their officers were out in force. Yani and his men had worked with the tour, and it had been agreed that two of Wiley’s guards would be able to take positions courtside, just inside the tunnel that led to the locker room. Wiley could feel their eyes on him, their purpose, their mission, hung over him like a storm cloud. Every little thing seemed to make him tense; the ball boy that bumped into him, the pop of the tops of ball cans, and the muttering of the crowd. He was sweating before he took his position on the court.

“Come on, snap out of it,” Wiley willed himself as Duquesne prepared to serve.

It was a softball serve, the ball landed right in the sweet spot. Wiley had one of the best backhands in professional tennis, he should have rifled the ball down Duquesne’s throat but instead he got aced by an inferior player. He tried to shake it off and prepare for the next serve but Duquesne aced him again. Athletes are like sharks in some ways, once Duquesne smelled blood in the water he went on the attack and Wiley lost the match, 6-3, 6-2.

“God damn it!” Wiley swore and slammed the head of his racquet into the concrete, cracking the frame.

Wiley was known in the tennis world for his calm demeanor and good sportsmanship but taking out his frustration on his racquet was a performance that would have made John McEnroe proud. He didn’t even shake hands with Duquesne; he was so disgusted with his game play, and losing his temper in front of everyone, that he stormed off the court.

“Dude, what happened?” asked Benji.

“I can’t get my head in the fucking game. I can’t play like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” Wiley exclaimed and gestured at Yani and the other guard, Mosses. “With these guys around.”

“We are doing everything we can to keep you safe…” Yani began.

“I know, and I appreciate that,” said Wiley. “But you’re making me nervous. I’m jumping at every little noise. I can’t concentrate on the game while I’m this paranoid!”

“What do you want to do?” asked Benji as they approached the locker room.

“Tell the tournament officials I’m forfeiting my next match…”

“Wiley, let’s not be hasty. You’ve got a few hours until…”

“It’s hopeless, Benji. I can’t do this, not right now. Get me on a plane home. Get me out of here.” Wiley sighed.

“Ok, I’ll take care of it,” said Benji.

While Benji went to carry out Wiley’s orders, Yani accompanied him into the locker room. Yani kept a respectful distance as his young charge slumped down on the bench and buried his face in his hands.

“Ah, Mr. Grace,” said Fred Mitchell, the ATP’s event’s manager, as he rounded the bank of lockers. Yani eyed him carefully, ready to strike if he presented a threat.

“Fred,” Wiley greeted. He’d never been a big fan of Mitchell’s. The guy had a smile that a used car salesman would kill for, and sleaze seemed to ooze from his very pores. Sometimes Wiley and Benji joked about who Mitchell must have fucked to land his job.

“That was quite a performance you had out there.”

“That was possibly the worst tennis I’ve ever played in my life,” Wiley retorted.

“I meant after the match.” Fred smiled his smarmy smile.

“Is there something I can do for you, Fred?” asked Wiley, his eyes narrowing at the tour official as he thought, what a fucking jerk.

“Actually there is something I can do for you,” Mitchell began. “You’ll be relieved to know that the threat against you has passed. Dubai police arrested a man this morning breaking into young Mr. Normanov’s hotel room. When they took him into custody he immediately confessed to writing the letter the tour office received.”

“Normanov? Why would a guy that threatened me be breaking into Normanov’s room? We’re not even staying at the same hotel.”

“It seems the gentleman in question was a jilted lover. When Mr. Normanov broke things off, he didn’t take it well,” said Mitchell.

“Wait, I’m still not seeing the connection here.”

“The letter that was sent led us to believe you were in danger and…”

“What did it say? No one’s ever bothered to tell me what was actually in the letter,” said Wiley.

“It was quite simple really, “That faggot’s coming home from Dubai in a box.”

“What?” Wiley exclaimed.

“We were unaware of Mr. Normanov’s…orientation and…”

“And you figured a letter threatening a faggot, well, he must have been talking about me, right?” Wiley demanded.

“That was our first assessment, yes…” Mitchell trailed off as Wiley got to his feet and glared at him.

“You fucking idiot!” Wiley roared. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? I just got my ass handed to me by a virtual amateur because you’ve made me so paranoid…”

“Mr. Grace, we were just thinking of your safety…”

“Bullshit! You got a bullshit threat that could have been directed at anyone, but because I’m openly gay you…ugh, get out of my sight! You’ll be lucky if I don’t file a complaint with the ATP board of directors over this,” Wiley shouted as he turned to storm away.

“Mr. Grace, wait…” Fred started. He made the mistake of putting his hand on Wiley’s shoulder.

Yani watched the entire exchange in silence, processing the information behind an impassive face, but when Wiley jumped to his feet the bodyguard was right behind him. When Fred Mitchell’s hand came down on the young tennis player’s shoulder, Yani grabbed his wrist with one hand, his throat with the other, and slammed the tour official against the row of lockers.

“Do not be touching, please,” said Yani.

“Ok, ok,” Mitchell croaked.

“Let him go before he shits his pants,” Wiley ordered.

Yani released Mitchell and the smarmy official crumpled to the floor as he struggled to breathe and adjust his toupee simultaneously. Wiley grabbed his bag and headed for the door, Yani trailing in his wake.

“Thanks for that,” said Wiley when the locker room door closed behind them.

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Yani smirked.

“Yeah, you do,” said Wiley.

“Well, man with bad hairpiece was being asshole.”

When they reached the lobby the full security detail joined them and surrounded their protectee. Wiley was feeling surprisingly calm after his altercation with Fred Mitchell. Sure, Mitchell was an asshole who had basically ruined the tournament for him with his judgmental homophobia but at least no one wanted to kill him. As the thought hit home, Wiley started laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation while his bodyguards looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“What’s with you?” asked Benji with a raised eyebrow as he found his friend. Wiley stopped laughing long enough to explain the conversation he’d had with the tour events director.

“That fucking asshole,” Benji exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Wiley agreed and fell back into laughter.

“It’s not funny.”

“I know,” said Wiley.

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is common reaction after stressful situation,” Yani chimed in.

“Did you get me out of this tournament?” asked Wiley as he began to calm down.

“Yeah, piece of cake,” said Benji. “I even called the airline; there’s a flight out in three hours.”

“Good. Let’s be on it,” said Wiley as the car arrived and Yani led them outside.